Date: Tue, 10 Nov 2015 22:50:36 -0800
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rough Edges  Chapter 22

Welcome back. As Phil waits to face the music for his outburst in
math class, he is torn between taking his anger out on everyone
around him until he gets expelled from school, or do something
new--come up with a solution to his dilemma. Teen angst pushes
him hard to lash out at the unfairness of his situation. Enjoy.

Please be safe. And please donate to the Nifty Archive to help
keep it free and available for our reading pleasure.



CHAPTER 22
TESTS

<Larry Sanders>

As expected, going back to school was hectic. The staff, the students, and
everybody else with business in the building flooded me with
congratulations on the championship. Every player approached me before
the first bell. It was as if they had to let me know they were alive and had
survived the Sunday night party.

But, with finals coming up, there was still math to be taught. I know it
seems weird that I was a math teacher when math didn't seem to be my
strong suit in sixth grade. But the potential was there. I was never bad at
math; in fact I was an A student. It was just that some of it seemed elusive
and I was making things harder than I needed to. Phil had a way of making
some of the concepts I was fighting make sense. I often thought Phil would
have made a great teacher, but he liked the idea of being an engineer and
building and fixing things.

Mr. Rodman, my sixth grade math teacher, who was obviously an idiot, had
problems relating to tweens and seemed bored with the subject matter. But
it was Mr. Wainwright, my seventh and eighth grade math teacher, who
really opened my eyes. The man wasn't even thirty, yet he was a master
teacher. He was my example of how to teach and how to treat kids. Mr.
Rodman was my prime example of how not to do it.

Phil and I worshipped Mr. Wainwright, who was an inspiration to both of us.
Sadly, he was too good to teach middle school math for the rest of his life.
He now teaches at a large high school in Kirkland, Washington. That is a
brief capsule of how a kid who needed his new best friend to show him how
to divide by two and three digit numbers ended up becoming a high school
math teacher as well as teaching community college math classes part
time.

I will never forget the day Mr. Rodman kicked Phil out of math class, and
neither will Phil. He says he still entertains fantasies of running into his old
teacher somewhere and punching his lights out. As Phil stomped out of the
classroom yelling and cursing and slamming the door, the rest of us sat in
stunned silence.

It was Jung, who broke the silence. While he was quiet and polite, he was
not afraid to stand up for himself and others. "Phillip did not cheat, Mr.
Rodman. He got a perfect score with his own hard work," Jung said. While
he didn't raise his hand, he did display his usual quiet and polite demeanor.

"And just who asked for your opinion, Mr. Kwon? We both know that Mr.
Miller is not capable of coming up with a perfect score on his own. In fact,
since you had the other perfect score in the class, and you sit adjacent to
him, maybe I should be suspicious of you abetting him."

Before Jung could reply I spoke up. Like Jung, I was compliant and polite,
but I had a little bit more of an edge to my personality than he did. "Mr.
Rodman, that is just wrong. Phil is good at math. He was helping me with it.
You need to apologize to him."

I had an A on the test, missing two while getting one bonus question
correct. I was also pulling down an A in the class. Telling Mr. Rodman that
Phil helped one of his best students was not what the math teacher wanted
to hear.

"Perhaps you would like to join your friend in the office, Mr. Sanders."

I was getting on a roll and was not about to quit—yet. "Just look at his
worksheet and you can tell he did the problems."

"This is the last I am going to say on the matter. Phillip was among the first
to finish his test. He is simply not good enough to work his test that fast and
get a perfect score, or even a passing score for that matter. As for his
worksheet," Mr. Rodman picked Phil's test up off of the floor, "there is no
need to look at gibberish. Here is my opinion of that worksheet." He then
proceeded to tear Phil's test into shreds, dumping the remains into the
wastebasket. "The next person who opens his mouth on this closed subject
goes to the office."

Okay, I was wrong about Mr. Rodman being just an idiot. He was an
asshole as well as an idiot. He thought he was better than he was and that
teaching sixth grade math was something beneath him. That made him
different from Mr. Wainwright, who simply loved numbers and loved
teaching about them. He would have been just as happy teaching first
graders to add five plus four as he would teaching probability theory to
college students.

Mr. Rodman was close to having a rebellion amongst a class of preteen
sixth grade students. If not for the fact that this was an advanced math
class consisting of mostly good students and good kids he would have lost
us. As it was he'd lost almost all of our respect and we were on the brink of
rebelling.

Don Yates, who was an east side student like Phil and had gone to Phil's
elementary school, decided to get in the last word. "What you did to Phil
really sucks." He then finished with a snide, "Sir." That got him kicked out of
class and kept the rest of us quiet.

It was ironic that a boy who barely knew Phil was the one to get kicked out
of class while his new friends weren't the ones trying to get the final say. I
am sure that if the incident had happened a year or two down the line it
would have been me and not Don Yates who got sent to the office. But I
was not yet ready to sacrifice myself for a boy who had been my friend for
only a couple of weeks, no matter how sexy those two weeks had been.

Nobody was surprised when Phil wasn't on the bus after school. I felt a
strong sense of disappointment realizing that Phil would most likely not be
spending the night with me. I doubted he would be spending it with me on
Saturday either.

Q was sitting next to me on the bus. "Phil really got hosed today. I was
ready to say something, too, but Turdman scared me and Daniel. No way I
was getting my ass kicked out of school."

"Turdman?"

"Yeah, he's an asshole and turds come out of asses. If we call him
Turdman nobody but us knows what we're talking about and we can't get
into trouble."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"Want to spend the night with me and Daniel if Phil can't come to your
house?"

"Yeah, I guess. I thought Daniel and Ben were tight."

"They are, but Ben is staying at Jung's. I think they want to get to know
each other better." I assumed Q meant get to know each other sexually.

"What's Perry doing?"

"His brother is having friends over. Perry wants to hang with the older
guys." I looked back at Perry who was sitting behind us. He grinned and
made circle with his left index finger and thumb, then ran his right index
finger through the hole.

"You are so gross, Perry," I told him.

Perry grinned. "Jealous?"

"P is the number one Wonkey horn dog," Q said.

"Don't forget me." Jung was sitting next to Perry and considered himself to
be a stud. Perry didn't say a word about being called "P" so we figured he
was in a good mood.

The buses ahead of us started moving and the driver closed the door of our
bus. But before he could start moving there was a loud rap on the door.
The driver opened the door and Mr. McKay, the principal, stepped on
board.

"I would like to see Larry Sanders, Quinn Baxter, Jung Kwon, and Daniel
Turner, please."

Q and I gave each other "What the fuck did we do?" looks and got out of
our seats. Jung and Daniel followed us. Behind us I could hear a voice
saying, "Ohhhh, somebody's in trouble."

We must be in big trouble, I thought. I couldn't think of any other reason for
us to be called off of the bus before it left the school.


<Phil Miller>

I thought about running out of the school after slamming the door to Mr.
Rodman's classroom. While Mr. Rodman had already been on my list of
people I hated and resented, the test incident encased his position in
concrete. In a brief moment of sanity, I decided that leaving the school
would just sink my fortunes further, if that was actually possible.

So I headed down the hall to the office, kicking a few lockers along the
way. I kept waiting for a teacher to come out of his or her classroom to see
who was creating the racket, but nobody did.

I turned a corner into the main foyer when I came across Tim coming the
other way. "Where the fuck are you going, shrimp?"

I walked right up to the big eighth grader and punched him in the gut. He
bent over trying to get his breath. I didn't wait for him to say anything. I
knew he was pissed at me because of how the big "rumble" at the bus stop
came out. He had seen me in the hall or the foyer more than once over the
past couple of weeks.  He would say things like, "I'm gonna get you, you
little fucker. You were a traitor."

I know I didn't help my cause any with my sucker punch, but it made me
feel good. I reminded him that a little shrimp could carry a powerful wallop. I
thought punching a person I truly did not like would make me feel better,
but I found myself even angrier than I had been before I hit him.

After I reported to the office, Mrs. Duncan, the secretary, had me sit on the
bench that was situated in an alcove across from the teachers' mailboxes.
The school year was only two months old, but I'd sat here at least a half-
dozen times. Every teacher and student who walked into the office would
look into the alcove to see who was sitting there. The teachers would also
give a look that said, "You should be ashamed of yourself," as if sitting on
the bench automatically made you guilty of something. Student reaction
was mixed depending if it was a good or not so good kid giving the once
over.

The bench was always a better place to sit if there was somebody else
sitting with you who was also in trouble. When you are alone you get to sit
here where everybody can see you and feel shame for what you did. On
this occasion, I was alone, which suited me just fine. I am sure I would
have punched out anybody sitting on the bench just for the fun of it. At least
I would be expelled from school for something I actually did instead of for
getting an A on a math test.

I was surprised when Don Yates came in and sat next to me on the bench.
He told me he'd told off Mr. Rodman for me. But nobody in the office
seemed to know why he was there, unlike me. I guess Mr. R didn't have
time to call down to the office, or didn't want to be bothered. Don left for his
seventh period class when the bell rang. Instead of slugging him, I thanked
him for standing up for me.

I sat on the bench until ten minutes after the start of seventh period. I was
certain that Mrs. Richards, the assistant principal, was a sadistic bitch who
wanted students to sit and suffer as everybody coming into the office
between periods stared at them. I know now she was waiting to talk to Mr.
Rodman between periods to get all of the "facts", although subjecting us
students to public humiliation was certainly a part of her strategy. I sat and
stared at the teacher mailboxes as sixth period ticked away, then I sat
through the four minutes between periods, and I sat for another agonizing
ten minutes before Mrs. Richards finally escorted me into her office. By
then I was so angry I was quaking.

This wasn't my first dealing with Mrs. Richards. When you got into trouble,
she was the one you saw. While Mrs. Richards tried to exude an aura of
reasonableness and caring, she was a bitch and we all knew she was a
bitch. Once again, looking back, I can see that she was actually pretty good
at her job.

"I am very disappointed to see you here again, Phillip," Mrs. Richards said
in her calm, reasonable voice that was guaranteed to piss me off even
more than I was. Plus, I hated being called Phillip. At home being called
Phillip almost always meant I was in trouble. Being called Phillip didn't do
anything to help my frame of mind.

"It's not my fault," I said raising my voice to make sure my anger showed.

"It's never your fault...it is always somebody else's fault. Time for you to
take some responsibility for your actions, Phillip."

"Rodman is the one responsible. He's an ass...er...a jerk."

"Phillip, if you calm down, we might be able to have a reasonable
discussion. Otherwise, I'll just call your parents now to let them know I'm
suspending you. And, yes, I have already talked to your mother, but so far
I'm leaving my final decision open. But, I can only take so much from you,
and you have tested the limit."

I looked at her, putting on my best sulky expression, but said nothing. My
foot was involuntarily kicking my chair.

"Let's see, you yelled at Mr. Rodman, you called him names, you cussed at
him, you threw something at him, and you slammed the door leaving the
room. Did I leave anything out?"

I maintained my silence.

"Is there anything you wish to dispute?"

Listening to what Mr. Rodman told the assistant principal raised my anger
another notch. I wanted to dispute everything. I wanted to stand up, lean
across Mrs. Richards' clean desk, get into her face and scream at her. I'm
sure she could see the anger erupting out of every pore of my being, but
she gave me an impassive look, as if she expected me to say something.

I had something to say, all right. I wanted to scream, "I didn't FUCKING
CHEAT ON THE TEST! I FUCKING EARNED THAT A!" But something
else happened instead. I paused for a moment, just like Troy kept telling
me to do. I paused just like Mrs. Richards was doing. There are turning
points in everybody's life. They can happen at any time, even when one is
an angry pubescent boy. What happened next was so different from what
was running through my mind, I was stunned at what I had done.

Instead of getting up and leaning in the face of my adversary like I'd
planned, I edged forward slightly and said in a quiet, if shaky voice, "I didn't
cheat on that test, Mrs. Richards."

There was another pause. Mrs. Richards gave me a perplexed stare. "What
test?" she finally asked.

Then I realized what had almost sent me over the brink. Mr. Rodman hadn't
mentioned the test when he spoke to Mrs. Richards. She had no clue as to
what I was talking about.

I took a very deep breath. I could feel tears welling up, which I quickly
fought down. Tough boys don't cry, was my rule. "My math test. Mr.
Rodman passed them back to us and I got a hundred because I worked
hard and studied for it. But he gave me an F and said I cheated."

"And that was why you became angry?"

"Yes, ma'am." I whispered, my training in being polite to adults actually
showing through for once.

"What did you throw at him?"

"Nothing. All I did was throw my test paper on the floor. You can ask
anybody if I threw anything at him. They'll all say I didn't."

"Phillip, your progress reports all say you are failing math. Just how did you
manage to get a perfect grade on a chapter test in a class you were
failing?"

My anger started to well up again. "So you don't believe me either," I
scoffed. "You don't believe I can work hard and am smart. Ask my fifth
grade teacher why he put me in the advanced math class."

"Then why were you failing?"

"Because...well...because I don't like Mr. Rodman because he doesn't like
me."

"Did you give him reasons not to like you?"

"I dunno...maybe." I wasn't ready yet to become rigorously honest about
my behavior, even though she knew what the answer to her question was.

"I think the answer is yes."

"Mr. Rodman keeps saying I'm dumb, and then when I got a hundred today
he said I was too dumb to pass the test so I must have cheated."

"Did he say how you cheated?"

"He said he didn't know how, just that I did."

"So, how can we prove you didn't cheat?" she asked. I liked how she said
"how can we prove" instead of "how can you prove."

"Just look at my worksheet. All of my work is there. It's not like I was
copying answers. I did all the work."

"Did you tell Mr. Rodman that?"

"I never got the chance."

"You never got the chance because you lost your temper. Does that sound
about right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'll be right back." Mrs. Richards walked into the main office, leaving her
office door open. She said something to one of the eighth grade office
helpers and returned to the office.

"Phillip, I have no doubt that you are a much smarter boy than a lot of
teachers have been giving you credit for. But you are also your own worst
enemy. Did doing failing work in Mr. Rodman's class simply because you
didn't like him benefit you at all?"

"No ma'am," I said a bit sulkily.

Mrs. Richards continued to give me the standard lecture about
achievement and behavior. I wanted to say something about how I had
done exactly what she wanted me to do by getting a perfect score on my
test, but we were interrupted by a knock at her door. It was the student
helper she'd been talking to earlier.

"Thank you, Stacy," was all I heard.

Mrs. Richards closed her office door and sat in the seat next to mine.
Instead of looking at me across a vast expanse of wood, she looked at me
eye to eye, person to person. "We seem to have a problem, Phillip."

"What?" I asked warily. I wondered what other lies Mr. Rodman was
making up about me.

"It seems that you ripped the entire test to shreds after tossing it on the
floor. It looks like we can't check your worksheet."

I was stunned into silence. I was so angry I couldn't get anything to come
out. I wanted to punch somebody like I'd punched Tim on my way to the
office. I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to spit in Mrs. Richard's
face. Even worse, I wanted to cry.

Mr. Rodman probably tore the test up between periods and blamed it on
me. The anger that I had stifled earlier was now ready to take control. But,
one more time Troy said, "Pause before you act."

"I didn't tear the test up, Mrs. Richards. I swear that all I did was throw it on
the floor. I swear it."

"Phillip, sometimes when a person gets very angry they do things they
regret and they forget they did what they did. I was willing to give you the
benefit of the doubt, but the destruction of your test tells me a great deal."
Her voice had lost a lot of its reasonable friendliness. "Now, young man, tell
me the real story of that test." Her voice was now cold and threatening.
"Tell me the real story of what happened with that test."

As I'd said earlier, everybody has turning points in their lives. I was
teetering on the verge of one of mine. So far, listening to Troy's voice had
me in the same place I'd been—that of a cheater and a liar. It was time to
go back to what worked for me. It was time for me to tell Mrs. Richards
what I thought of her, what I thought of Mr. Rodman, and what I thought of
her stupid school. It was time for me to call a bitch a bitch.

But then I was struck by another revelation; I wasn't alone. There was a
boy in my class who said he was my friend. He was a boy I had slept with
and kissed. In two short weeks he'd started becoming as important to me
as Andy had been. And, to top it off, there were two other boys in that class
who were that boy's friends and who were becoming my friends. We were
all Wonkeys, which had to mean something.

Mr. Rodman had always had me where he wanted me. I was the angry
loner and he was the teacher ready to take advantage of the tough little kid
who wore his anger on his sleeve. As far as he was concerned, I was alone
and nobody was going to care enough about me to cross him and stand up
for me. But Mr. Rodman was wrong; I was sure of it. I had friends who
would stand up to him by standing up for me. While those weren't the exact
thoughts that coursed through my mind, it pretty much summed up what I
felt. Even Don Yates, a boy I barely knew, had stood up for me in class.

"I can prove I didn't tear up my test," I said with quiet determination.

"Tell me," Mrs. Richards said dubiously.

"Just ask my friends."

"Your friends aren't in that math class."

"Huh?" I had no idea what she was talking about. Larry, Jung, and Daniel
were all in my class.

"I have a pretty good idea of what goes on in my school, especially
regarding students who end up in this office a lot. I've observed whom
you've been hanging around with lately."

"Not for the last couple of weeks you haven't," I told her emphatically.

"And just who is going to stand up for you?"  I heard the bell ring ending the
school day. I knew that Larry, Jung, Quinn, and Daniel had to stand up for
me now before I got accused spending the weekend convincing them to lie
for me, or more likely in her mind, threatening them to lie for me. I gave her
the three names.

Once again she left the room, and came back with Mr. McKay, the
principal. She gave him a quick synopsis of what she needed. I looked
impatiently out of her window at the line of yellow buses. The flow of
students was increasing as they loaded the buses for home. The two
administrators blabbed away. I wished the two of them would quit talking
and get my friends before the buses left.

"We need to inform their parents," Mr. McKay finally said.

"I'm on it," Mrs. Richards told him.

"Those are four really good kids," the principal remarked in a manner that
said, "And what are they doing hanging around this loser."

Mr. McKay left the office and Mrs. Richards got on the phone. Fifteen
minutes later I was transferred to Mr. McKay's much larger office. The room
had two tables together making a large conference table. There were eight
of us sitting around the table: Larry, Jung, Q, Daniel, me, my mother, Mr.
Rodman, Mrs. Richards, and Mr. McKay.

Larry gave me a look that said, "What the fuck am I doing here?" All I could
do was shrug. It was interesting how the two of us were able to
communicate without saying a word.

Mr. McKay took charge of the meeting. My four friends were told they
weren't in trouble, that we just needed their help. He told them their parents
had been contacted and that Larry's mother was coming to the school and
would be their ride home. He then asked the four of them to leave the room
and sit on the bench. I cringed at the thought of my friends sitting on the
dreaded bench. He also told them they were not to talk to each other and
that Mrs. Duncan would make sure not a word was uttered.

Larry, Jung, Daniel, and Q were brought into Mr. McKay's office one at a
time. Ignoring Mr. Rodman's withering stare with its implied threats, they
each told the same story—that Mr. Rodman had torn the test up in front of
the class.

"Would the rest of the class back you up?" Mrs. Richards asked each of
them.

"It's what really happened," each of them replied, even after Mr. Rodman
questioned their veracity. He told Mr. McKay and Mrs. Richards that each
of the four had been impertinent in class after the test incident and had
questioned his authority. They were lying to make him look bad and their
cheating friend look good. However, the fact that all four of them told the
same story and were establishing excellent reputations in the school were
factors in my favor.

I could tell that Mr. McKay and Mrs. Richards were not pleased with Mr.
Rodman, which made me feel good. There was a lot of arguing between
my mother, the administrators and Mr. Rodman. Mr. McKay brought things
back to order.

"I think we have established that Phillip did not tear up the test," he intoned,
giving Mr. Rodman the kind of look usually reserved for recalcitrant
students. "What we haven't established is whether or not he cheated on the
test."

"There is no doubt he did," Mr. Rodman said, which brought more heated
discussion between the four adults in the room. When Mr. McKay restored
order the question was asked as to what should be done with my grade.

"Past experience says he is an F student and problem in class. He should
get a failing grade," Mr. Rodman insisted.

At that point my patience was gone. I'd listened to everybody talking about
me and my future and nobody, including my mother, bothered to ask me
what I thought. "Doesn't anybody want to know what I think?" I said before
the arguing could start again. I was a bit louder than I'd intended to be.

The four adults looked at me like I'd just parachuted into the room.

"No, nobody really cares," was the first thing I heard, uttered by Mr.
Rodman, of course.

I could see my mother was ready to say something, but Mrs. Richards
spoke first. "Yes, Phillip, we do care." She glared at Mr. Rodman, who
seemed to be digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. "What do you
think we should do?"

"Give me another test on Monday. Just me and Mrs. Richards in her office."
I felt a surge of my old cockiness. "I bet you all I get another perfect score."

"Now wait just a minute...," the math teacher started.

"Stuff it, Leland," Mr. McKay hissed. I'm sure my jaw dropped in surprise at
hearing the principal put my adversary in his place, calling him by his first
name to boot. The principal ignored my surprise and looked directly into my
eyes. "I rather like that idea, Phillip." I wished they'd all quit calling me
Phillip. At least call me Mr. Miller, which had a grown-up feel to it.

"So do I," Mrs. Richards said.

Mr. Rodman opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

"I'm going to ask you to sit out on the bench for a few moments," Mr.
McKay instructed. "The three of us need to devise a plan." My mother
stayed in Mr. McKay's office.

I shrugged and walked out into the main office. By now the school would be
devoid of students, so the only people who would see me would be the
secretaries and teachers. I didn't really give a shit what they thought.

I sat on the bench, once again staring at the mail boxes. Sometimes I
would look up at the ceiling for variety. A couple of times I swore I could
hear yelling coming from the office. I assumed Mr. Rodman was getting
yelled at, although he could be the one doing the yelling. It seemed really
strange to think of a teacher getting yelled at. As far as I was concerned,
Mr. Rodman deserved it, if that was what was happening. I'd have to ask
my mother who was yelling at whom.

After about fifteen minutes I was called back in to Mr. McKay's office. "With
the help of your mother we have come up with a plan," Mr. McKay told me.

"What about my help?" I asked. "The plan is about me, right?" I was back to
being an impertinent little boy as I'd already been called that day.

"We did get your help. Listen to the plan before you spout off," the principal
admonished.

Pause, just like Troy says to do, I thought. At least for today pausing
seemed to be working better than spouting off.

"Here is the deal. You will serve a two-day suspension for your
impudence." I took that to be another word for impertinence. "We cannot
allow students to yell at and cuss out teachers no matter how much they
feel they have been wronged. After school on Tuesday your mother will
bring you to the school. You will take a test devised by Mr. Wainwright to
insure neutrality. It will be a twenty-five point test with two bonus questions,
as was the test Mr. Rodman gave you."

So far it sounded good. Well, except for the suspension it sounded good. If
I was getting suspended for two days, I figured Mr. Rodman should be
suspended for acting like an	 asshole and making me mad. I wouldn't have
to be suspended if he had acted even like a normal teacher, which can be
bad enough at times.

"If you get a score of twenty-five or better you will get the A and you will be
allowed to return to school on Wednesday. You will also remain in the
advanced math class." If that meant spending the rest of the year with Mr.
Rodman, I wasn't sure that was such a good deal.

"If you get less than a twenty-five, you will still get credit for whatever grade
you earned and your F will be erased. But, your suspension will continue
through the rest of the week as a consequence of your being less than
honest on your first test. You will also be placed in a regular math class."
That made it sound almost worthwhile to miss some problems on the test.
"Either way, upon your return you will start attending Mr. Roth's anger
management group fifth period Thursdays."

Mr. Roth was the sixth grade counselor. He is another person I looked
down on, since he'd been trying futilely to help my behavior improve.
However, he is another person from my middle school years whom I can
look back on and see that he was good at what he did and ended up
having a positive impact on me, even when I tried to fight him.

I tried to give Mr. McKay one of my best stares. I was tired of being called a
cheater. I tried to pause and say nothing, but the principal opened the door.

"Do you have any comments, Phillip?"

"Yeah. That last part is totally bogus since I never cheated." I looked at my
mother and said, "I can't believe you think I cheated. That so sucks."

"That's enough, Phillip."

"Well, you asked."

I could see Mr. Rodman giving Mr. McKay a look that said, "I told you so."

"Sometimes it pays to be judicious when expressing your opinions."

"Whatever that means. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not only getting
all of the problems right, I'm getting the two bonus problems right..." I
paused and looked straight at Mr. Rodman. "Just like I did this time."

"That is what we are all rooting for, Phillip." It was the first time Mrs.
Richards had spoken since I returned to the principal's office. "Isn't that
right, Mr. Rodman?"

"But of course," the teacher said, making sure all of us knew he didn't mean
it. I was no longer tempted not to do my best.

On the ride home I complained to my mother about the final decision. I told
her it was totally unfair that Mr. Rodman got away with calling me a cheater
when I didn't cheat and for yelling at me when I stood up for myself. She
said I should be happy my idea for retaking the test was listened to.

I asked if I could still spend the night at Larry's house. While her answer
was the expected no, I worked my charms on her and got what I wanted. I
was an expert at manipulating my mother. If I had been in Mr. McKay's
office with her I'm sure I would have talked her out of agreeing to the deal.
Then again, there were four adults against one kid, so maybe things
worked better without me.

As I said, this day was kind of a watershed for me. More than once I
opened my mouth as soon as an idea popped into my head.
My...impertinence...got me nowhere. But when I waited and paused, I
made much more progress. While I didn't become instantly calm, cool, and
collected, I did learn some things. I learned that it was possible for me to
win, or at least come out ahead, in an argument without yelling, cussing,
and posturing. I would still let my temper win out at times in the future, but
getting it under control became something I would work to get better at,
especially after working with Mr. Roth.

For now, my angry, tough guy image was still important to me, but the
image had some cracks in it. And through it all, I gained even more of a
measure of respect for Troy.

<Larry Sanders>

I had no idea how long it would take Phil to get home, but a half-hour after
my mom brought me back from school I called his house. Instead of Phil, I
got Troy. I was grateful Keegan wasn't the one who answered the phone.
Phil had set me against the middle son of the Miller family.

"Hey, Troy, is Phil home yet?"

"Not yet. I guess he got himself in deep shit this time."

"It wasn't his fault."

"While I don't know what happened, I can tell you that Phil will say
whatever happened wasn't his fault, even when it is."

Troy was pissing me off a little. It might have been easier if Keegan had
answered the phone. "I was there," I stated adamantly, "and I can tell you it
wasn't his fault. I even stood up for him. Mr. Turdman...I mean, Mr.
Rodman, was a total asshole." I quickly explained what had happened in
sixth period math.

"Wow. I know a couple of guys who had him for math here at the high
school. He wasn't all that well liked here."

We talked a little more and then I asked Troy to have Phil call me when he
got home.

"I'll do that. And I hope you and I get to meet other than on the phone soon.
You seem like a cool dude. I know Phil sure likes you. He talks about you
all the time."

If somebody could blush over the phone, I blushed over the phone. I was
very pleased to hear that. I know I talked about Phil a lot with my parents.

"Phil thinks you're the best big brother in the world," I said automatically. As
soon as I'd said it, I realized Phil said that because it was true. I was happy
I'd told Troy what Phil thought of him. Even as an eleven-year-old I could
tell that Phil worshipped his big brother.

"Thanks for saying that, Larry. Now that we've finished patting each other
on the back, I'll be sure to have Phil give you a call as soon as he gets
home."

Which is what Phil did. Phil told me that his mother had given him
permission to spend the night. I told him it would mean sharing me with Q
and Daniel.  I told him I had been so certain he wouldn't be able to come
over after what had gone down in math class I invited them over. I thought
he would be upset with me, but he was cool with it. "Q and Daniel are my
friends, too," he said. That gave me some warm and fuzzy feelings.

Since neither of us had eaten, it was decided in negotiations between
mothers that Phil's mother would drive him here and we would get him
home the next day.

When Phil arrived he and his mother both came into the house. Phil's
mother gave him a motherly look after which he thanked my mother for
letting him come over. The two of us dashed up the stairs to my room.
Daniel and Q wouldn't be coming over until after dinner.

"I could have ridden my bike over," Phil groused. "Nobody ever thought of
that."

"I kind of thought of it," I confessed, "but it was already getting dark."

"So? I have a light on my bike. Everybody gets all paranoid and shit about
crossing Stevens. It has a fucking traffic light. I know how to ride my bike."

I could tell Phil was still cranky about the incident with Mr. Rodman. After
he told me how it all came out, I could see why. I thought he got the raw
end of the deal, especially since, from what I could tell, nothing was going
to happen to Mr. Rodman.

"Thanks for standing up for me," Phil said. "You, Daniel, Jung, and Q were
awesome today. They probably would have kicked me out of school without
you guys being on my side."

"It's hard to argue with the best math students in the class," I chuckled.

"Even you?"

"Thanks to a certain friend of mine, I got an A." I then told Phil about Mr.
Rodman ripping up his test in front of us. How he expected to get away with
that I don't know. At the time it appeared that the displaced high school
teacher thought he could intimidate us all into not ratting him out. Today I
still feel the same way. Little did he know what a determined group of
preteens could accomplish.

Dinner was mom's signature lasagna with garlic bread, carrots, and
brownies for dessert. Phil and I helped clear the table and load the
dishwasher. About the time we finished Q arrived with Daniel arriving five
minutes after him. They each had plans after school or they would have
been here for dinner. Q lamented missing out on mom's lasagna, and was
more than willing to scarf down a dish of warmed-up leftovers.

Before you think we were all preteen sex fiends who spent every moment
together naked and jerking each other off or giving each other blow jobs,
we really weren't like that. Sure it happened a lot, but we spent more time
being eleven-year-old boys enjoying racing remote control cars around the
house, or playing video games, or watching movies.

This was one of those nights. We hadn't yet learned how sex could help
ease stress, and after the events of the day, we were stressed out. In this
case we burned up the stress, like kids so often do, by being hyper and
loud and driving parents nuts. I think my parents understood it had been a
rough day for all of us, particularly Phil, and gave us some slack to burn off
our pent up energy.

When we finally tired, Phil slept with me in my bed—naked of course. But
we were so tired we fell right to sleep. Q, who was the only one of us
sporting a boner when we got undressed, slept in his sleeping bag naked,
and Daniel slept in his the same way. Not being in a sexual mood didn't
stop us from enjoying nudity.

We did get a bit on the erotic side for a moment. Whenever we saw Daniel
naked, we had to admire his pubic hair. He had a nice sprinkling of slightly
curled hair around sides of his cock and shorter and thinner straighter hair
at the base. He was shooting more cum than any of us, especially those of
us who were still dry. I petted his hair, marveling at its softness. Anybody
else in our group would have popped a boner if he had his groin petted by
three other boys, but Daniel was usually slow to bone up. The fact that only
Q got hard during this brief exploration was indicative of how tired we were.

The next day would be a busy one. Q, Daniel, and I had our first basketball
practice of the season for our recreation team. Jung and Perry would also
be turning out. We all planned to turn out for the sixth grade team when
boys' basketball started after winter break. Phil tagged along, but told us
how he wasn't interested in playing basketball. Nevertheless, he accepted
a permission slip from Coach Zimmer, who apparently saw something while
Phil played around with a basketball on the sidelines while we practiced.

The really big event of the day was Daniel's twelfth birthday party. The big
galoot was the first Wonkey to turn twelve. His party was a pizza feed at
South Hill Pizza. Not only were all of the Wonkeys at the party, but so were
a few other friends of Daniel, including Don Yates, who had stood up
against Mr. Rodman on Friday. We were all so happy to see Don there that
we tolerated the fact that Daniel had invited three girls as well. I wondered
how Daniel could be bed buddies (we had picked up that term at school
listening to older boys) with Ben and like girls at the same time. Daniel
planned to have a big Wonkey overnight sometime in the future, but that
night there would be a family party.

Phil spent Saturday night with me, too. While we didn't have sex, we did
hold hands and kiss while watching a movie in the rec room. It was another
one of those instances where we were a bit daring, since my parents could
have come in at any time. They ended up having the good sense not to.
Just sitting against Phil on the couch and feeling his warmth, feeling the
grip of his hand, the beauty of his kisses, was enough that night. It was as if
we'd taken care of the instant passion and now we were simply getting to
know each other.

We slept naked, cuddled and wrapped around each other. My boner asked
to be satisfied, but I enjoyed just being under the covers with my new best
friend. I had never felt this close to anyone, not even Q with whom I had
shared so much over the years we knew each other. I didn't understand
how or why, but I knew that my relationship with Phil was turning into
something special.

COMING NEXT: Disobedience